Death's Door
by Avenginghunters
Summary: When the Doctor inexplicably loses control of the TARDIS, he gets stuck in the labs of Tony Stark, leaving Sam, Martha, Amy, Castiel, Rory, and Dean "behind the wheel" of the TARDIS. Meanwhile, John Watson goes to New York to forget, but SHIELD has other plans, and the ghosts aren't helping him either. This is superwhoavengelock, but the site only has a two-part crossover option.


The Doctor careened about the TARDIS, switching dials and grinning madly. "You're going to _love_ SHIELD!"

"But you still haven't told us what SHIELD stands for," muttered Rory.

"I heard that! But it doesn't matter. All of you will love them. They're something like legends."

Dean grimaced. "We're talking the good kind of legends, right? Because I don't feel like hunting any."

The Doctor spun around his ship cheerfully. "The best, Dean-o, the best."

The crowd in the TARDIS smiled to see the Doctor so happy. They were a motley group, cobbled together by the Doctor's infinite resources and mercurial moods. Martha became acquainted with Castiel, Sam introduced himself to Rory, and Amy and Dean traded witty comebacks, Dean mocking her Scottish accent.

Finally the TARDIS landed. The Doctor swung open the door, but before the others could skip down the steps, the door slammed and the TARDIS vanished at the Doctor's fingertips. He looked around in shocked confusion. Tony Stark stared back at him. The alien scowled. "I'm the Doctor, and where the _hell_ is my ship?"

Meanwhile, the ship hurtled through the time vortex, sending the passengers within scattering across the control room. It crashed to the ground again, and once again the door swung open, and Dean and Rory, who were closest to it, rolled through as the TARDIS lurched up yet again. "RORY!" screamed Amy, at the same time that Sam and Cas cried, "DEAN!" But the TARDIS was on another madcap flight, and they had no telling of where or when the boys, or they, for that matter, were headed to.

xxx

Dean groaned and opened his eyes, and Rory did the same. Before they could stand up, however, a shadow fled across the verdant landscape. Dean frowned, uncertain what danger they were facing now. But the shadow rushed up to the two men and when they awoke again, they were in a dark room.

"Um, what's going on?" asked Rory.

"Honestly, I have no idea," replied Dean. "But I do know this much: we're dead."

xxx

Clint didn't like the look of the gawky, bow tied man that had popped so suddenly into the tower. So far, the man seemed generally harmless despite his insistence that they had his ship, but Clint had met enough dangerous people to see the signs that this man had seen and tasted destruction more than once. Tony was talking excitedly about other dimensions and whatever the TARDIS was with the newcomer, but Clint stuck to the rafters that Tony denied putting there purely for Clint's enjoyment.

"Well, aren't you clever? But you still haven't told me where my ship is. There are six humans in there that I got into this, and I fully intend to get them out," the Doctor said as Tony flitted happily around his lab.

"Listen, Stretch. I have no clue where your box went, but seriously. Six people? Do you have some foldaway bunkbeds or something in there," he joked.

"It's bigger on the inside." The Doctor smiled fondly before rifling through the stacks of gadgets on every one of Tony's benches and worktables. The man was advanced, the Doctor had to give that to him. He'd seen better but this little human with the iron heart beaming from behind his tank top did have a powerful mind and an equally innovative imagination. Two things the doctor was fond of, and hoped would help him find his friends.

xxx

Sherlock Holmes sat alone on the third-highest floor of the SHIELD building after returning from a quick noon smoke. He was doing the only job he'd ever actually made money at – consulting – but he was also deducing. When the Doctor arrived, he went downstairs to greet the alien. The detective's social graces were somewhat limited, but he liked to say hello to old acquaintances. By the time he reached the lab, Natasha was already asking thinly-veiled threatening questions of the timelord. "Miss Romanov, I would advise against anything too imprudent," Sherlock murmured.

"Do you know anything about the intruder?" she demanded in reply.

"It doesn't matter if I know him or not. By looking at him, I can easily ascertain that he is not of this world, first by his fashion, second by his mannerisms, and third by the energies that Tony's machines pick up from him. He is something very unlike any of the rest of us…rather like yourself, Miss Romanov."

Natasha scowled. "Mr. Holmes, come with me into an interrogation room. I have some questions for you as well."

Sherlock's eyes glinted almost cruelly. "Lead on."

Clint awoke with a start from his nap in the rafters. No sound had disturbed him –rather, it was the lack of conversation that jarred him awake. He flitted down and went looking for Tony and the Doctor. When he found them, they were outside one of the interrogation rooms, staring transfixed inside. "What is going on?" he asked.

Tony shook his head. "That British bastard has been deducing her for two hours. And all for asking questions to the Doc here."

The Doctor looked down. "I _am_ sorry about that. Sherlock can be…rather unfriendly at times."

"Tell me something I don't know, Moon Man."

Natasha looked up suddenly from Sherlock. She knew Clint was outside, and she couldn't bear for him to hear the rest of her embarrassment. She handcuffed Sherlock even more tightly to the table and left the room, not pausing to speak, and kept walking. She fetched a few pistols from the armory and took the back door out of the tower.

xxx

Amy, Sam, Castiel, and Martha stood shell-shocked at the controls of the TARDIS. A shout for Dean died on both Castiel's and Sam's lips when they realized he was truly gone. Martha began searching the TARDIS control room's many switches, buttons, and monitors for any sign that something within them had gone wrong. Amy ran from the controls to search for their friends. She wouldn't lose her Rory again.

"Amy, stop!" Sam ran after the redhead before she delved too deep into what he knew was probably an endless maze of rooms and hallways. "We don't want to get separated." It was true, mostly, but Sam had an ulterior motive to keep his eye on her. He hoped that she'd traveled enough with the Doctor that she could pilot his freaky ship well enough to go back to whatever time had sucked Dean and Rory out of the TARDIS. Worry hit him like a ton of bricks, but he couldn't panic. He'd been taught better than that, and there was no way of knowing what had happened to any of them.

Martha stayed with the odd man in the trenchcoat. They said he was an angel, but the only angel she knew of for certain were the weeping kind she'd been told about. While he seemed trustworthy enough, Martha wasn't going to let anything further happen to the Doctor's baby. Not on her watch.

"Sam," Castiel's gravelly voice brought both Amy and Sam back to the control room. He'd opened the doors and stood stoically between whatever world was outside the door and the control room. "I don't think this is good," he said.

Outside the TARDIS door was an open grave. The ship seemed steady enough, so the four cautiously clambered out, still shaken from the thrill-ride they'd undergone. Sam was the first to peer into the grave, but withdrew his head quickly, eyes closed. "Damn it, Dean…" he said under his breath.

Castiel raised his eyebrows and took a look as well. "No, it wasn't good."

"What are you two grimacing about?" demanded Martha.

"Has something happened?" Amy bounded toward the hole in the earth. "No...," her voice trailed off. "One of you, wha'd'y'say, hunters, you can fix this, can't you? Because I will _not_ allow _my_ Rory to be dead. I've done that enough and I won't let it happen again. Come on, angel man, let's fix this!" Sam nodded, thinking the same thing about his brother.

Martha studied the group's faces. "Amy, I don't think we can fix anything just yet."

"Then we'll just have to wait for the Doctor!" cried the ginger.

"I think that will be too late," interrupted Cas. "Whatever is going on here, it's not right. There is something else very wrong at work here."

xxx

In the dark iron room, the spirits of Dean and Rory tried to understand their predicament.

"So if we're dead, how come we're not…you know, gone?" asked Rory.

Dean rolled his eyes. "No reaper came for us, dummy. Something real weird is going on here."

Gunshots sounded in the distance. Dean smiled a little. "Feel more in your element?" asked Rory.

"What's that supposed to mean?" growled Dean.

"Violence seems to suit you," replied Rory.

"I do what I have to."

xxx

Natasha had no idea what this strange shadow was, but she had no intention of letting it overtake her. She fired again and kept running.

"Come on, ginger, get a move on. We're ghosts for Pete's sake. You can't be winded." Dean grabbed Rory by the hood of his jacket and pulled him along toward the gunfire. Rory attempted to pull Dean's hands away, only to have them fly through the hunter's body.

"I try to stay as far away from guns as possible. And how come I can't touch you?" he asked. They weren't too far away from the gunfire then. The gap between each loud crack was growing, telling Dean that the person was trying to conserve ammo.

"I've been a ghost a couple of times. You learn. We're getting closer." They ran in silence until they spied their shooter. She was a fairly short redhead in a skintight leather suit with a small handgun Dean couldn't recognize from so far away. She seemed to be shooting at nothing, but Dean knew that the concentration in her eyes and the obvious training with which she handled the gun told a different story.

"Rory, go see what she's shooting at. I'll try and get her to move on," Dean ordered. Rory stood quickly, finally grasping the fact that he didn't need to duck anymore. A bullet flew right through his chest and into the darkness of the stone hallway.

Dean picked up a few of the loose chunks of stone that littered the hallway and began forming them into a word. Move! She was engrossed in the battle with her unknown assailant, and only saw the words because he chucked a small pebble at her head.

"What the fuck?" she whispered, her eyes wide at the sight of the perfectly placed chunks. She'd gotten a little experience in crazy with the Loki incident, but this was a different ball-game. Dean rolled his eyes and made the word "now" next to his previous warning. The redhead apparently took the hint, or maybe it was the horrific being that stood inches from Rory's ghost down the hall. Either way, she moved, and Dean had a freaky looking son of a bitch to deal with.

xxx

"Get the bodies back into the TARDIS." Sam began pulling his brother's unmarred body out of the deep hole. "Damn, Dean. You're gonna have to lay off the burgers when we get you back." Sam laughed softly at his own joke to keep from crying. There was another that had lost a loved one, and Sam had to remember that. He could deal. He had to deal, because others had it worse.

Castiel fell into the hole and assisted both Amy and Sam in pulling their loved ones to level ground.

"Why are we keeping dead bodies, Sam?" Martha asked as she helped Amy pull Rory past the TARDIS' threshold.

"They're going to need something to come back to when we find out what the hell happened," he replied simply.

"First, we're going to figure out where in the universe we are." Martha tried pulling the attention off the two dead men lying on the floor, because both of the living who watched over them looked ready to join them. "So allons-y, I suppose."

xxx

At noon, Dr. John Watson clambered out of the taxi and started walking. He swore quietly under his breath, trying to put away his change. "Stupid American dollar bills." The wind snatched a twenty from his fingers and he started after it, scowling and cursing his leg. He passed the huge skyscrapers, paying little attention to where he was. Finally the twenty had stopped moving outside a shawarma joint across the street. He looked up and down the road, about to cross, when he saw a familiar long black coat. It disappeared into a hulking building with no name, and John shook his head, certain he was wrong. He hoped one day that he'd stop imagining Sherlock everywhere, but he knew it was unlikely. John bought some shawarma in the restaurant anyway and sat down, miserable now that New York had already failed to halt his grieving.

The sky had darkened into twilight by the time John had updated his blog and paid for the shawarma. He took to the streets again and had gotten well out of the nicer neighborhoods when he heard gunshots, and out of nowhere a slim woman in black careened into him. "Oof!" he let out as she knocked him over.

"Oh sh- Who are you?" she demanded, hurriedly concealing her pistol.

"No one in particular, miss," John replied cautiously. "Can I be of any assistance? You look to be in some trouble."

"Nothing I can't handle. But you better get out of here. It's not a safe place to be…" she trailed off when she realized John was staring just behind her, dumbfounded.

"Can you see those men?" he asked. "Because they just walked through a wall."

Natasha turned around quickly. "What are you talking about?"

"I swear, they're right behind you!" John protested, getting worried (for himself or the woman he couldn't decide).

The taller of the two men shook his head. "Stop talking about us. She can't see us because we're ghosts. Of course, why you can see us is another problem, but for now, you can help us convince this crazy lady that she doesn't want to be here."

"Dean, what the hell is going on now?" asked the other ghost. John remarked he was English, and became no less puzzled.

"Listen to me!" said the one called Dean. "You need to tell her that I was the one who said 'move.'"

John parroted Dean's instructions and Natasha's eyes widened. "I did not sign up for another bunch of crazy," she muttered.

John nodded. "I'm sorry, I know it's insane, but now he's telling me what's happening. And we're in very great danger."

xxx

Natasha had about had it with English men ruining her day, but this one was at the very least kinder than Sherlock, if not a bit crazier. They were running to wherever the small, sweatered man was being told to go by his ghost pals. She would have refused had he led her somewhere remote, but their quick jog had ended at a very populated pizza joint.

"A pizza joint, Dean?" Rory commented before Natasha and John let the parlor's old oak doors swing shut in their faces. "No respect for the dead," he deadpanned the joke before stepping out of the way to let Dean open the door.

Dean grinned slightly at the skinny English man. As the self-proclaimed king of gallows humor, Dean could respect the attitude. "Yeah, I like the smell and they're more likely to talk if there's a smaller chance of a fuckin' supernatural ambush."

Rory had to agree with Dean when John and the redhead sat down nervously, but unafraid at one of the booths. In any case, it was loads better than the concrete tunnels and iron rooms that they had previously run through.

"Any idea what you were running from?" John asked politely after the server had left with their order. Natasha wasn't one to divulge anything to strangers without a good reason or mission, and therefore remained silent. She had to give it to the man, he was brave for asking her to listen to him not matter how crazy he sounded, and he definitely was sounding crazier and crazier by the moment.

John wanted to shoo the two men who were talking over one another trying to give him advice.

"Don't talk too much about us." Dean was speaking very loudly, apparently emboldened by the fact that no one else in the parlor could hear him. "Stop looking at us. It's creeping her out," he added after John made a waving motion at him.

"Just let us do the talking." Rory pointed to a waiter's abandoned pen and order booklet. The waiter had gone out for a smoke break about a minute after they arrived, leaving his belongings unattended.

"Perfect. Just keep her from running off, ." Rory and John rolled their eyes at the ill-suited reference. Dean just shrugged. He didn't have a lot of ammo when it came to English culture. Caricatures would have to do. Dean grabbed the objects as subtly as he could and just hoped that no one in the parlor would notice a floating pen and notebook. No one did.

"All right Ginge. Let's see what we can do."

xxx

Martha gazed down at Sam and Amy, who were bending over the bodies of their loved ones. Castiel wandered about the control room, trying not to look excessively worried. Martha sighed and murmured, "Let me look at them. I'm a doctor, I might be able to see what happened."

Amy nodded tearfully and let go of Rory's limp hand. Sam took a couple of deep breaths and stood up to let Martha pass. She crouched down and looked over the bodies. After a few moments, she stood up again, frowning. "There's not a mark on them. As far as I can tell, they literally had the life sucked out of them. No obvious cause, though if I had the proper equipment I could say more." She sighed again, looking at the others. She felt the duty to protect them fell to her now, because in a strange way she'd known the Doctor the longest and spent almost as much time as Amy had in the TARDIS. Amy was barely keeping herself together, and the gangly Sam paced restively, so control fell to Martha. The angel didn't seem to be of much use either. Though considerably less terrifying than the weeping ones she'd encountered before, Martha could tell he wasn't quite the kitten he resembled.

xxx

"We haven't been formally introduced." Tony Stark extended his hand to the excitable, gangly man that had been peering through his things and talking excitedly to himself for ten minutes.

"Of course I know who you are. Tony Stark. Ex-arms dealer by the looks of your chest. I'm glad you've stopped that. Nasty business, war." The Doctor grinned at the man's confusion. It wasn't often that you got that look out of a man that brilliant. To his credit, Tony recovered quickly and replaced his confusion with a shit-eating grin.

"You travel through time and space, right. So tell me how in the hell your box went off the rails with you outside?"

The Doctor detected only slight accusation in the impatient man's tone. "I honestly don't know. I was hoping you could help me with that. A bit of a challenge I suppose, for humans."

He didn't mean it. He knew that humans were completely capable of brilliance, but a little shove in the right direction would do wonders for the inventor who had only recently been able to lock onto the TARDIS when she was on earth, and in his time.

Tony rolled up his sleeves and went quickly to work at his workstations. The Doctor followed behind, watching and absorbing all he saw. It was amazing. This hurt, egotistical, alcoholic little man was responsible for all the Doctor saw around him. Truly marvelous.

It had been an hour since the Doctor had issued Tony the challenge of sorts. He'd paced his lab, back and forth between monitors and formulas and bits of hardware strewn about it, contemplating the problem aloud and in his head. He could do this. He had a lock on the TARDIS. It was confusing and faint and entirely alien to him, but it would allow him to patch in some sort of communications.

"You do have communications ability in your box, yes?" Tony broke a long silence.

"Excuse me?"

The Doctor was staring intently at a monitor, his sonic screwdriver unraveling the code Tony had written like it was child's play. Tony stalked over, grabbed the screwdriver and waved it in front of the Doctor's face.

"You can get communications up, yes."

"Yes, Yes of course. You've got something?"

Tony grinned and ran to his main terminal before typing furiously.

"I think so."

xxx

Amy came up behind her. "Martha…I know that we haven't known the same face of the Doctor, but we both know him, so…"

"Yeah?"

"So he'll find us and make everything okay, won't he? Because he always makes everything okay."

Martha smiled slightly, trying to convince herself. "'Course it'll be okay. He's the Doctor, after all. And we've got proper angels on our side now too."

Castiel looked up at the mention of angels. "I don't know how much help I'll be," he growled. "This whole situation is reminiscent of Death. I don't like it."

"I don't think anyone likes death," replied Martha.

"I would beg to differ," came a voice near the door.

Everyone spun around in surprise. A gaunt, sallow man stood there, meeting each person's gaze frankly. "Castiel, however, is correct in his assertion. Something is very wrong. I'm afraid this time it is I who must beg for assistance."

"And how can we assist you, Death?" inquired Cas.

Just then, static crackled from a TARDIS control. The sound of the sonic screwdriver was audible, and a voice blurred in and out of focus. "…Stark...helping the Doctor…copy?"

Amy heard "Doctor" and brightened considerably, though maintaining her uneasy gaze at Death. Sam frowned but looked slightly less morose. Martha jumped to the communicator. "Yes, we copy. This is Martha Jones. Is the Doctor there? May I speak with him?"

The static lessened slightly. "Sorry, hon, the Doc's on his way out. But I can put you in touch with him if you give me a few seconds. Just –" The man's voice cut out abruptly, the static swallowing it. The TARDIS lurched into motion, and Death vanished. Once again, the passengers of the Doctor's ship were flung about like dolls. Martha landed by the door, and suddenly the pattern seemed all too clear.

"Amy, Sam, Cas, someone, HELP!" she screamed, suddenly terrified of meeting whatever fate Dean and Rory had faced. "I'm going to fall out!"

Amy staggered up, forcing herself along the railing. Cas did his best to steady her. But the TARDIS's door had already flung open. Martha hung halfway out. "No, not you too…" Amy croaked, making a last lunge for her friend. Martha lost her grip on the floor and disappeared as the ship spun cruelly. Amy felt herself falling toward the door, but Sam's strong arm snaked out just in time to snatch at her ankle. The TARDIS landed, but once again they'd lost a passenger.

xxx

Martha hit the ground hard, whimpering as she struggled to breathe. She dragged herself into a crouch, preparing to stand. This wasn't her first time being abandoned, and now that the TARDIS had vanished, she forced herself to adjust to the prospect of being alone. Taking a mental inventory of all the bones she managed not to break, she got up and took in her surroundings: fields, a pleasant-looking stand of trees…and a dark shadow that had no business in the pastoral scene. It grew larger and moved steadily closer. Martha fought the sudden fear that filled her, and closed her eyes just as it engulfed her. When she opened them again, she was in dim iron room, alone and lost.


End file.
